


Thoughts on the Tarmac

by 1BloggerandSociopathX1



Series: Heaps of Johnlock [2]
Category: Sherlock - Fandom, bbc - Fandom, johnlock - Fandom
Genre: John POV, LITERALLY, Love, M/M, Post HLV, as the plane is landing, right afterwards, the handshake wasn't enough, thoughts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-17
Updated: 2015-06-17
Packaged: 2018-04-04 18:30:37
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,231
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4148370
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/1BloggerandSociopathX1/pseuds/1BloggerandSociopathX1
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The plane was turning around, and he didn’t know what to do with himself about it. He couldn’t smile- an insane serial killer who was set on killing his best friend was back- but he wanted to, because his best friend was back. He knew that there was more than that. He knew that he was so happy because he loved Sherlock, but he could address that later. They could address that later, but now he had to stand by Mary and give her answers. He said something about an East Wind, just so Mary wouldn’t look at him. He couldn’t have Mary look at him, he was sure his expression would give everything away as soon as the plane hit the tarmac.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Thoughts on the Tarmac

John loved Sherlock, and he had known for a long time. Of course he had to see Sherlock jump of a roof and climb onto a plane for him to realize that he should probably do something about it, and that it was too late. Too late to say the three dangerous words that had threatened to pass his lips when they shook hands just minutes before. Too late to engulf the tall man in an embrace that said everything that he couldn’t let pass his lips. And too late to push away his lying wife’s hand that closed around his, because he said he would trust Mary. Sherlock said to. Sherlock wanted them to get past this, but John knew deep down it wouldn’t last. Mary had shot his best friend, after knowing that he had grieved for _so_ long. Mary had been willing to kill Sherlock _again._ He couldn’t stay with her, not after that. He had only stayed with her for so long after the shooting because Sherlock had asked him to, and because of the baby. And he knew it was too early to push Mary away, because she could take the baby and leave. He didn’t want that. John knew that wherever Mary went after this wouldn’t be safe for long, with her vast and dangerous, unknown history, and he was certain it would be no environment for a child. He just had to keep her in London long enough to sort out the legal issues with the child, and to do that he had to let her be the trophy wife and smile along.

This is what he thought, at least. That he would have to play along until the child was sorted, then kick her to the curb and mourn the loss of Sherlock, _again._ He didn’t know about the certainty of Sherlock’s death, of course, but it was his knowledge that he would never be able to see or communicate with him again, so it was like he was dying. He thought this until Mycroft got back out of his posh, slick, black car with his phone to his ear and the most troubled expression on his face that John had ever seen on the elder Holmes. He released Mary’s hand almost immediately and didn’t care enough to look back to see her reaction.

John furrowed his eyebrows, stepping forward, “What’s happened?”

John had to resist the urge to smile. He shouldn’t have had the impulse to smile. He really shouldn’t have. Moriarty was back, or at least his face was being projected all across England. Whether he was back or not was a whole other matter entirely. He tried to tell himself that this was terrible and dangerous, but he felt relieved. Mycroft was calling Sherlock. That meant Sherlock was needed. And _that_ meant that he wouldn’t be going undercover in some foreign land for six months then off to some other unknown location never to see John again. And sue him but the idea of Sherlock staying made him happy. More than that, it made him ecstatic. So when Mary started questioning him about Moriarty he couldn’t really bring himself to look at her properly. He kept glancing back at the plane in the distance as he answered her stupid questions.

“Absolutely, he blew his own brains out.”

“So how can he be back?” Mary seemed to be just as confused as the rest of England was, but there was something more lingering under the surface. Something trying to will John to look at her and not at the plane. Something almost…angry that Sherlock was returning. Which made sense, as Sherlock truly was the only thing standing between her and John. That was why she had shot him in the first place; he knew her secret and would tell John.

John looked away again and this time Mary looked with him. The plane was turning around, and he didn’t know what to do with himself about it. He couldn’t smile- an insane serial killer who was set on killing his best friend was back- but he wanted to because _his best friend was back._ He knew there was more than that. He knew he was so happy because he loved Sherlock, but he could address that later. He said something about an East Wind just so Mary wouldn’t look at him. He couldn’t have Mary look at him, he was sure his expression would give everything away as soon as the plane hit the tarmac.

After Sherlock stepped out of the plane John realized that hiding his expression from Mary had been useless, as there was no way he was going to let Sherlock slip away again. How utterly _stupid_ could he have been to settle for a handshake? To think that would have satisfied him through the long years he would have suffered through without his best friend. He wasn’t going to kiss Sherlock on the tarmac. No, not with all the emotions clouding his judgment and how Sherlock would respond. Instead he crossed the short distance from where Sherlock stood in front of the break-away stairs leading up to the plane. Sherlock opened his mouth to say something, probably a sarcastic one-liner about how he couldn’t leave for four minutes without London Bridge falling down or some other thing that would make John laugh, but he was cut off by John approaching him more than necessary, closer than they usually got. There were no words said, no dramatic pause. No, John couldn’t have contained himself much longer for that. He engulfed Sherlock in a hug like no other, a hug that screamed _I’m not losing you again._ His arms wrapped around Sherlock’s small torso and the taller man stumbled back at the force and in pure shock of the embrace.

 John didn’t take offense when Sherlock didn’t hug him back right away. That wasn’t why John hugged him. He knew Sherlock wouldn’t hug him back right away; he was never a touchy person and one of the extremely few times he had hugged Sherlock was at his own wedding, and he didn’t hug back then. John didn’t need physical reassurance from Sherlock, and while he wasn’t entirely sure Sherlock didn’t need physical reassurance of their friendship through hugs such as this, that wasn’t why he did it either. He hugged Sherlock to show him a handshake wasn’t enough. That years of standing by one another against criminals, tabloids, and the world meant so much to him. That he would have missed Sherlock if he had left for real. That their bond amounted to more than a simple handshake. That John had to use every ounce of self-control not to hug him like this when Sherlock offered only a hand. That it was okay to acknowledge that they were best friends- and possibly more.

Just when John started to loosen his grip to back away from the man, he felt strong, long, thin arms wrap around his back. They were gentle at first, and John knew Sherlock was trying to do it ‘properly’ and was possibly going through his mind in search of information about hugging. But soon enough the arms wrapped tighter and John felt the taller man sink into the embrace, burrowing his face against John’s shoulder. John squeezed him tighter and shut his eyes, not wanting the moment to leave them. He wanted to stay like that forever; with Sherlock in his arms, safe and whole.

Of course that was impractical. Sherlock was not brought back to hug John, and he was reminded of that when Mycroft cleared his throat to get their attention. _It had been a while then,_ he thought. He felt Sherlock go tense in his arms and he reluctantly pulled away. He looked up to Sherlock, trying to meet his gaze, but saw he wasn’t looking at him. John slowlyfollowed his gaze and he finally understood. Mary was watching. That wasn’t what he had realized; he knew she would watch when Sherlock got out of the plane. What he _had_ realized was that Mary was watching when Sherlock left. She was standing with Mycroft and that secret service worker who honestly John thought had no right being there. But she was certainly watching everything.  She had been watching their exchange before he got on the plane. And Sherlock knew this, so he held himself together. Everything Sherlock said had seemed a bit…odd. A bit forced. But John never would have guessed it was because Sherlock was trying to keep the exchange short and sweet for John’s sake. Because John was the one who was going to go home with her, and Sherlock knew an embrace would have made her upset. Maybe not right out, but secretly. And, when one’s attempted murderer was looking on as they said goodbye to the same man who was why a bullet was placed in their chest, one would be careful.

John found himself avoiding Mary’s gaze just how Sherlock was avoiding his own. Mary was staring at John skeptically, Sherlock was staring at Mary blankly, John was staring at Mycroft expectantly, and Mycroft was staring at all of them with a slightly amused expression that John wanted to punch off of him.

 After a long pause Mycroft cleared his throat, “Well, brother dear, welcome back.”

Sherlock pulled his gaze from Mary and rolled his eyes dramatically, an action that John never thought he would have missed as much as he had. Mycroft didn’t waste any time in saying, “We’ve got work to do.”

John surprised himself, along with everyone else by saying in his strong, Captain-voice, “Yes, we do. Mary needs to leave.”

Mary looked extremely taken back by this and furrowed her eyebrows, but before she could say something Sherlock interrupted in a low voice, turning to Mycroft, “John’s right, she’ll be a possible target, as well as Mrs. Hudson and Lestrade. They all need to go into hiding.”

Mary seemed to relax at this, as she had probably taken John’s words for what he really meant, that she needed to leave _him._ John knew Sherlock was right though, and that it was important to protect Ma- no, the baby, he corrected himself. Mycroft rose an eyebrow to Sherlock, then glanced to John, then looked back to Sherlock, saying, “I assume that includes Doctor Watson, as well.”

Sherlock just gave Mycroft a look that read _are you insane? Honestly, you seem to be talking like a crazy person,_ “You assume wrong then.”

John added in, “I’m not going anywhere.”

This caused both Mary and Mycroft to look at him skeptically.

Mary spoke first, “You can’t be serious.”

Mycroft spoke over her, “That wouldn’t be in either of your best interests.”

John couldn’t bring himself to care and stepped closer to be beside Sherlock, who was staring at him with wide eyes as he said, “He’s told me before, he would be lost without his blogger.”

This made Mycroft raise an eyebrow and Sherlock to smirk, but something was different. It was his eyes, John found. His eyes were warmer.

 Mycroft stared at the two of them for a moment before turning away, gesturing to the car with his umbrella, “Mary, I’ll make the arrangements for you as soon as possible, but you should be taken to my office while we sort out the details. The car will be your escort.”

John knew this was his polite way of saying _we need you to leave as soon as possible because you might be in danger and no one really trusts you._ John secretly appreciated it and knowing she was about to leave was what gave him the strength not to push her off when she hugged and kissed him on the cheek. She said that she’d call and that she loved him, but he honestly didn’t process it. She seemed to know this and gave him a sad smile. She looked over to Sherlock and looked like she was going to rip his head for a brief moment. She shook her head to whatever thing she had just thought in that mysterious head of hers before saying simply to the brunette, “Keep him in trouble.”

Sherlock nodded once and purposefully avoided John’s gaze and watched Mary walk towards the car. Mycroft turned so he was watching as well, leaning on his umbrella that John was sure was completely unnecessary at the moment. John was the last to watch Mary leave, as he had been staring at Sherlock. Eventually he turned, just as she was getting into the back of the car. He rubbed where she had kissed his cheek with his coat sleeve, as though her lipstick had left a mark that he wanted to be rid of. They stared after her for a long moment before another car appeared. Mycroft walked towards it and John noted how he had probably called one after calling Sherlock.

He wondered for a brief second if Mycroft could see the future before he was pulled from his thoughts by a low voice next to him, “So, the game continues.”

When John looked up he realized that Sherlock was staring down at him, waiting for a reply. And John gave him one that spoke volumes. He squared his stance next to Sherlock and grinned, nodding while saying, “Let’s win.”

**Author's Note:**

> This actually wasn't supposed to become what it did. Oddly enough I started this intending for it to be a cute, fluffy, little Johnlock Oneshot, but I got carried away ^.^ The cute fluff that I had intended to write will be coming soon! Along with whatever Johnlock headcanons, AUs, or other ideas that pop into my head. Hope you enjoyed it!


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